Let me rescind on yesterday's in-passing comment about continental breakfast being a deal-sealer. I expected eggs. Don't ask me why, but I did. Maybe because I eat them so often that breakfast in my mind usually means some form of eggs. Maybe because I amalgamated my best memories of breakfast at hotels and applied them to anything denoting free breakfast. The options were severely limited, but I made do. Do I sound spoiled? I am. Working on an organic herb farm embedded in a supportive local agricultural community does not mean a six figure salary, but it guarantees the best and freshest food available. I quickly realize how important this has become for me as I sigh at the thought of all the food I will eat (and have already eaten) on this trip. Immersion in a small community centered around food is as enlightening as it is sobering. Food is more than just mere sustenance at the farm, it is a lifestyle. The piquant pallet thrives in such a community. Few things boast a more direct path to communion with the earth than growing and harvesting one's own food - one takes a conscious stock in the entire process, and the reaping is that much more ripe with joy and satisfaction. The sobering element to this otherwise joyous vocation (joyous especially to one who savors the value of hard, honest work) is the burden of being informed. The food production and handling process of a majority of what is available to most is generally deplorable. Now is not the time or place for a rant on this, but I mention it as an example of how in the course of our lives, we find ourselves in situations where we have to suspend a particular ethos, belief, or general practice that is important, even vital, to us - a sacrifice necessary to being a part of a community. For now, I will shut my mouth and make do with Raisin Bran.
Snake and I checked the weather forecast - 80% chance of rain, with an ugly yellow blotch indicating patches of severe showers. Our shoes were still soaked from yesterday, and in an attempt to start fresh today, I brought them to the coin-op dryer we had dryed our garments in and popped them in. As I left, I hoped no one would pass by the washer/dryer room and flee to rescue of the small animal that seemed to be desperately slamming its way out of the dryer.
I stepped outside to uncover my bike - 70s and humid, overcast. A bald man with a long white beard was cleaning up the entrance way, and slowly started sweeping patches of nothing as he inched his way closer. I soon found out he was the owner of the '86 lowrider parked around the corner. "Get soaked yesterday?" "Oh yeah." "Me too - took off from here around 3:30, and was soaked by the time I got home." "We came up from MA." "Oh Jesus."
I came back in to check on the dryer status. Apparently someone had tried to free the animal. He or she must have been disappointed to find two stinky wet pairs of shoes. The dryer door was open, and when I pressed start again, nothing happened. The wall-mounted blowdryer attempts in our room afterward were to no avail. Fortunately, Snake had scored me two small trash bags (he had brought two shopping bags for himself). I watched him tie the bags around his socks, and slide his wrapped feet into his shoes. "Ohhhh that makes much more sense." After my conversation with Patty, I had in mind the "moon boots" look.
We packed up, and fired up the engines. Moose got a belly rub. "Day 2..." "Day 2." The clouds were ominous ahead, but we were savoring the present dryness. 20 minutes or so in, the rain hit, and hit hard. We cruised straight into a deluge. I-90 is a route of choice for semis as well. Between the pounding rain and the spray of truck runoff, we were more soaked in 10 minutes than all of the previous day. Apparently I did not tie my footbags correctly, and instead of keeping my feet dry they backfired and quickly absorbed two small ponds for my feet and socks to drown in. The visibility quickly became so poor that I could barely make out the tail lights in front of me. To continue on would have been suicide. We pulled off somewhere between Oswego and Syracuse, and headed for the first covering we could find - a drop-off area of a sports complex.
It was time to rethink today. We knew that the rain was expected to continue, but we weren't certain how sporadically and for how long over the course of the day. It looked as though we would have to eat a day. Our second day in. The "what are we DOING?" thoughts began to creep in.
We went about a mile up the road to gas up and evaluate the next step. As we did, the rain started to let up, and we saw patches of blue in the distance. Was this a tease? Were we quitting prematurely? Fortunately, our schedule is not so rigid that we fall drastically behind a deadline by taking a day - bad weather is a necessary constituent of the planning process for a trip like this - but there was something defeating about taking a day on the second day of the trip. We decided to push on the next time the rain calmed. 15 minutes later, it seemed as though the yellow patch had made its way through, and we pushed onward with a rekindled tenacity.
We trudged through several less severe patches, and then it happened - the sun burst through the clouds. Snake, in front at the time, threw his hand up victoriously, and I returned the gesture. The spotted red barns and multicolored countryside were all the more glorious after what we had suffered through. A recurrent theme here - one appreciates something all the more that was achieved through great efforts or through strife. Beautiful landscapes, gorgeous weather, and the open road. This was what it was all about, and we were grateful to be back in it.
The sunshine had all but dried us off when we rounded a bend and saw what lied ahead. A darker omen more accurate to the morning's forecast than the last miles had graced us with. As we drew closer to Niagra Falls - our lunch destination - it seemed as though our route might just skirt the edge of the darkness. But with the turn onto 290, the portent of foul weather rang truer than before. We were headed straight for it. We decided to try and tough it out until we arrived at our lunch destination. Again, a deluge, worse than before. Right as the ridiculousness teetered on intolerable, we turned off the highway and stopped an an information center. Welcome to Niagra Falls.
We decided that we had no inclination to continue risking our lives, and resolved to spend the night at the Falls instead of continuing to chase the storm. We entered the information center, which was in actuality one of many tour guide agencies posed as an information center. The woman was informative, but was ultimately trying to sell us a package deal for a shuttle to the Falls, multiple tours, and a discounted rate at one of the nearby hotels. She was a nice lady, but as soon as I became weary of the sales pitch, I was disheartened. I have great resentment for when people treat others like something other than people - in most cases, this is a passionate cry against dehumanization, but this event somehow tapped into the same sore spot in a perverse way. Snake later reminded me of the obvious: "hey, everybody's gotta make a buck." He was right - it wasn't her, it was witnessing the human connection I savor so much suppressed by the demands of the system. Neither of us wanted to spend the money, and after her exhaustive description of the tour package and her (very sincere) recommendations, I didn't have the heart to flat out answer no when the punchline came: "So fellas, how are we feeling about this? Want to go forward with it?" "We'll have to think about it over lunch." She was disappointed. I was returning the very insincerity I resented, but at that moment, we were both just "doing our job" - abiding by the appropriate social code.
We found a great deal at a local Econolodge, and changed into dry clothes before heading to the Falls itself, bound for what had now become an early dinner on the Canadian side. The officer at the border was as stiff as they come - the flagrant counterpart to the innocence of our tour consultant. He asked the standards - "Where are you from," "What is your intention," "How long are you planning on staying," "Do you have any weapons" and so on. He also decided to get a little deeper, and asked us what we do for work. Bill: "I work on a farm," prompting a silent balk - as much as is possible when your stiff reservation is enough to beg the question of how big the stick is that's lodged where the sun don't shine. Snake: "I...don't have a job right now." He left his job shortly before the trip. "If you don't work, how are you funding your trip?" Both of us were taken aback at the question, although Snake handled it smoothly. I wondered whether it was appropriate to try and get a rise out of him, but something about his unrelenting firmness made the interjection less than desirable
The Falls were very lovely, but there was something nauseating to me about the locale. The Canadian side resembled an inbred version of Vegas and a carnival - bright lights, a plethora of souvenir shops, wax museums, head shops, and discount t-shirts, along with casinos (on both sides) overlooking the Falls. Tourist traps abound. I thought again of our tour-guide-that-never-was, and how she went through great lengths to elaborate all the amazing opportunities to see the falls. We would have had the luxury of each view at a package rate - from a boat, from both sides, in the caves, where Marilyn Monroe filmed a movie "well before you two were born." Such exploitation - any opportunity to make money asserting the better, the funner, and the more spectacular - is capitalized upon. They even light up one of the falls at night time with different color lights - a spectacle "you have to see - it's just amazing." But hey, Snake's right - everybody's gotta make a buck. Niagra Falls may be tainted by the extremism of capitalism, but it didn't stop us from purchasing two Cubans (on the Canadian side, of course), and standing there taking it all in. A silent bro-ment, marveling at the true spectacle - the evocation of awe from a beauty and force only Nature can provide. Free of charge.
We got our wish to bring on the rain. Forecast tomorrow: more of the same. At least Econolodge has continental breakfast.
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